Alone
by Infinite Devil Machine
Summary: Zack managed to break himself and Cloud out of the mako tanks,and it seems Cloud isn't quite the failure they'd branded him as. Semi-AU. Plot!
1. Teaser

For now, this is just a drabble I had to get out of my system.  
Depending on response, I may actually extend this into a big-long SERIES FIC.  
"Depending on response".  
That's where you come in.  
Hinthint.

**If I owned them, I wouldn't call it **_**fan**_**fiction, would I?**

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After the first year in the tank, Cloud could no longer hear or see Zack. There was nothing but a peircing green that fogged all his senses and burned through his veins. It was then that he first began to understand the word "loneliness".

He spent the entire next year alone with his thoughts.

After the third year, even they had abandoned him.

He began to really appreciate the true meaning of the word by the fourth year; he could feel nothing but the overwhelming loneliness picking at his frayed conciousness.

By the fifth year, he felt nothing at all.

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	2. I

I know it's short and not what you wanted, but I need these little choppy transitiony "chapters" out of the way before I get to the good stuff. Bear with me. And review! I was blown away with the response to the teaser, keep it coming guys 3

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He didn't remember regaining the mental capacity for thought, but when he found himself wondering whether or not he was _alive_, he realized it must have come back to him at some point. That left him with the question itself: was he even alive? With only a minimal degree of disappointment, he assumed that not knowing the answer meant he hadn't died. He breifly wondered why he was disappointed, and he tried hard to remember. He managed to dredge up tiny snatches of memory; the flash of a needle, the feel of cool glass against his skin, the bitter cold of a sterile room. He strained to remember _more_, to remember _anything._ A gloved hand held the needle, the cool glass was all around him, the room was almost _painfully _cold. He struggled to connect the dots. The needle burying itself deep within his skin, the glass unyielding against his bare fists, the icy cold of the lab table biting into his naked flesh. Green. Sick, ugly, choking green that permeated _everything_. He couldn't see through it, he couldn't _breathe_! He tried desperately for an explanation, anything to help him sort this mess out. He was beginning to wish his thoughts _hadn't _come back to him, now he just wanted them to leave him _alone._

He quickly found that that just wasn't going to happen. Fragments of memories flashed through his mind as he fought to stop his own stream of conciousness. Despite his efforts, a projector wheel in the depths of his mind limped forward. With no other options, he watched.

Cloud was pretty sure he was alive. But the more of his memory he recovered, the less he was sure that it was a good thing.

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	3. II

I'm trying to stay semi-consistent with the updates.  
That means short chapters, at least for the next two or three days.  
Like I said, just getting these transitiony phases out of the way so we can get along to the fun parts.  
As for you one-sentence reviewers, now that I'm starting to actually crank out real CONTENT, how about some real FEEDBACK, neh? I WANT nitpicks, I WANT flames. I love your criticism. :3  
But tell me what you liked, too.

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Over time, Cloud had learned little tricks to help him escape his own mind. He'd tried quite possibly everything he could to get away from the swirling torrent of painful memories that threatened to drive him insane all over again. He found little things that helped along the way, and eventually developed a system for blocking it all out. After all the things he'd seen—_remembered—_, he was perfectly happy with the blank nothingness of his newfound sanctuary. And the longer he hid from his thoughts and memories, the harder it became for him to drift back. But that wasn't a problem; it was what he wanted, right?

He could feel himself slipping away again, but this time something was different. There was a sense of permanency that hadn't been there before; he couldn't help but believe he was being given an ultimatum. It was a relatively easy choice.

As Cloud drifted deeper into the dark recesses of his own mind, he felt a not-quite-imagined weight lift from his chest. Relief washed over the ragged edges of his pseudo-coherency, and he let go. Almost immediately, something was there to pull him back. Disappointment tore through him and shattered his concentration, his sanctuary, all the walls he'd built to protect himself from what he was horrified to think had been his past.

Terrified of his own memories, he struggled to find his own escape routes again. In his desperation, he did more damage than good. Resignation slowly consumed him; he had no options. Reluctantly, he let himself remember. His metaphorical projector, his new arch enemy, wasted no time.

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Zack was starting to get antsy in the back of the truck. It was too _quiet _out here, and he had too much to worry about right now; he needed a distraction, _anything_! So he talked. Mostly he talked to Cloud, but after this long he was beginning to doubt the kid could even hear him at all. He kept talking anyway, just to keep his frazzled nerves a little more at ease. The old man driving had finally gotten sick of Zack's rambling and shut the back window. Zack pouted.

He turned back to Cloud and saw that his head had flopped back down over his chest, his eyes closed. The kid almost looked peaceful, and maybe he was sleeping, but it wasn't a chance Zack was willing to take. He'd gotten them both out of the lab by some _miracle_ a little more than two days ago. He knew it was a long grind, but he also knew that if he let Cloud fall asleep he'd probably never get him back. They were too close now, much too close to be taking chances like that. Midgar was only half a day's travel away.

Zack refused to entertain the thought that Cloud might already be beyond help.

He reached a gloved hand out to the mess of blonde spikes and ruffled them gently. When the younger boy made no response, the gesture grew more forceful until the entire golden head shook under his fingers. Finally the boy made a muffled noise, and Zack couldn't help but hear the note of disappointment (he wouldn't let himself call it pain) in the sound. He let himself chuckle slightly as Cloud groggily raised his head.

"I know you wanna sleep, kid, but we're almost there, I promise." he murmered in a voice he liked to imagine sounded comforting. The ruse did nothing for the storm of increasing desperation in his eyes.

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**Hit-and-runs bum me out and make me want to stop writing.**


	4. III

Haha I bet no one remembers this story.

It has been uhm TEN MONTHS OR SO since I updated last.

My free time kinda got ripped out from under my feet.

And I know this update is a pretty lame way to come back, but it gets good next time, I promise.

So for this chapter, it's still slightly AU and pretty predictable.

If I don't update in the next two days, harass me endlessly. Please.

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The next few hours drug by slowly, like the desert surrounding them. Definitely moving, but not moving nearly fast enough. The skies were growing darker overhead, and there were angry rumbles off in the distance. Ominous. Zack refused to think of it as foreshadowing. Besides, this was supposed to be a triumphant and glorious day, not a soggy, depressing one! Zack heaved a sigh, and turned to look at his blond companion again. A strange feeling gnawed at his gut, and he reached out to nudge the boy's arm. He hesitated, not really sure what kind of reaction he was expecting to get anyway, before his palm met the flesh of the Cloud's bicep. Zack recoiled suddenly, as if burnt. That wasn't actually too far from the truth. Zack started to panic; he had no idea how to deal with a fever! Sure he'd fought as a SOLDIER, but he had been entirely concerned with fighting and not with trivial first aid tips. They'd had nurses for that! Zack decided the best thing to do would be to take some of Cloud's layers off, that's probably why he was so hot in the first place. Zack wasn't sure who he was trying to convince. He reached for the hem of Cloud's shirt and lifted it halfway over the boy's head before noticing, from his closer position, the goosebumps on Cloud's stomach. He was shivering. Zack cursed loudly, now completely unsure of what to do. His moment of silent fretting was interrupted by a clap of thunder that shook the whole truck. Lightning streaked above them, splitting the sky open. Rain poured from the cracks. Zack cursed louder, trying to hear himself over the roar of the engine and the skies.

Zack tried to shelter Cloud from the rain as best he could, for no better reason than to feel like he was doing _something _right for the kid. His rescue had so far been a bit less valiant than he'd intended it to be. But that wasn't important, Zack assured himself. They'd just broken out of hell itself, and no rain was going to ruin this parade, damnit. He heard a weak cough beside him, and couldn't decide if he was more worried or relieved. Come to think of it, Zack wasn't really sure what he should be feeling right now. Triumph, dread, guilt, worry, determination, relief, anger, sadness; everything seemed to be welling up in his chest and it was starting to choke him. He focused on Cloud instead. Zack bit his lip; it was probably his fault Cloud was getting sick now. _No, _Zack crushed the thought. _He'd have died for sure if I'd left him there. A cold is a small price to pay for freedom. _That was, of course, assuming Cloud ever woke from his catatonic state. Again, Zack refused to think about that.

After several long and silent minutes, the truck slowed to a stop, inexplicably, and the driver reached back to open the window. Zack moved closer so he could hear the man's gruff voice over the beat rain and the driving wind. The man gestured roughly toward the horizon, which was now considerably blurred by the rain and the haze. "This," he said with finality and a thrust of his hand, "is as far as I'm'onna take you." Zack squinted into the distance, still looking for "this". As far as he could tell, they were still in the middle of the desert. His heart sank. The driver seemed to sense Zack's wordless response, and his open handed gesture narrowed itself into a pointed finger. "See that?" he said, as if expecting Zack would see more than terrible grey sky and sand around them. "That's Midgar, right straight ahead." Zack made a noise of disbelief. The man was surely crazy. The man gave Zack a grim smile. "I would take you closer," he said, a hint of pity softening the words, "but the wife'll get worried if I'm out in weather like this. She expected me back yesterday, y'know?" The sheepish smile did nothing to comfort Zack. The driver let an awkward moment pass, and then continued. "Well, There's a cliff a few miles from here. If you can manage to make it there, and then down into the valley on just the other side, you're there. That's Midgar! Trust me, you can't miss it." More hesitation, another awkward moment. "So . . . Good luck, mate." An offering, or an apology Zack couldn't decide. A beat passed. Zack nodded his head, once. The driver closed the window.

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It felt like it had been hours, and the rain had, if anything, only gotten worse. The raindrops were icy cold daggers against whatever exposed flesh they could find, and Zack made it a point to keep his head down. This was something that, mercifully, Cloud could do on his own. So Zack grit his teeth, and continued to drag himself along with the combined deadweight of Cloud and the Buster sword. He would sigh, if he wasn't so focused on keeping his breathing even. They still had miles to go, he reminded himself. And he was still yet to see this "cliff". And the seeds of doubt resurfaced in his mind again. They had grown claws. It was obvious to Zack that the man had simply gotten tired of driving them around. And Zack realized that was his fault too, he'd been the one driving the man crazy from the beginning of the trip. Zack thought back to the joy he'd felt when some benevolent soul had actually agreed to pick them off of the side of the road. That seemed like eons ago, now. There was another cough from Cloud, and his droopy golden spikes shook with the force of it. Zack smiled, and ruffled that hair with a soft smile on his face. "Thanks buddy," Zack spoke, looking to the horizon again. "That old guy had somewhere to be. But I'm sure he's set us on the right course. We'll be in Midgar before mornin'!" The claws were driven back, for now. Zack shifted Cloud in his grip, and trudged forward.

They continued on like that long after the sun set. Eventually the rain stopped, and the eerie quiet of the desert night fell around them. Zack told Cloud stories about his childhood, about his first crush, his first part-time job, his first hangover. All of the muscles in his back and legs had gone numb hours ago, and he was drawing power from God knows what just to keep going. He liked to think that he was Cloud's lifeline, and that as long as he kept going things would all be okay. The night grew darker around them. Zack decided it was late, and he should probably let Cloud sleep. Zack fell silent, and busied himself counting stars. When that gave him a headache, he turned to counting the rocks they passed, but only the ones of notable size; there were just too many if he tried to count every one. In the distance Zack saw what could only be called a boulder sitting heavily on the horizon. He ignored all other rocks for this one, and headed for it. Every now and then, the rock would grow slightly in his field of vision. Several more hours passed this way. Zack finally reached the boulder just as the sky was starting to turn early morning pink. It was at least the size of a minivan, and it was as good a place as any to stop. He dropped the sword heavily against the rock, and eased Cloud down beside him. Zack laid his pack down to use as a pillow on the west side of the rock, and pulled Cloud closer to him, in an effort to protect them from both the desert sun and the driving sand. For the first time in nearly four days, Zack fell into a thick, dreamless sleep.

It was short lived. He was awoken, rather rudely, several hours later by a dull roar from the south. He poked his head up to try and locate the source of the annoying sound. If he wasn't awake before, he was now. It was a tiny blot in the darker blue part of the sky, but it was getting bigger fast. He stared, jaw hanging open. It was a ShinRa helicopter. And suddenly Zack was scrambling to gather up his sword and his pack, to heave Cloud back over his shoulder. And he ran. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to stop, but there was no way in _hell _he was letting those ShinRa bastards take him back there alive. And this time, the familiar weight on his back was a source of strength. He threw desperate glances over his shoulder every so often, and the helicopter had doubled in size every time he looked. It was between these glances that he started to notice the slightly darker blot looming in front of them. It also seemed to grow as he ran, but much slower than the helicopter. Eventually it took the shape of a city. Zack could've howled with joy or laughter or both at that very moment, but for the helicopter that was practically on top of them now. Zack couldn't hear his own thoughts over the roar of the turning blades, and was caught off guard when he the noise softened. Had they backed off? A final glance told him that no, they hadn't turned back. The helicopter had landed.

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Oh, and review.


	5. IV

**Real plot this time, really! **

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Zack somehow found the time to wonder how everything had gone so terribly wrong. He knew he shouldn't think that way, but he couldn't help but blame himself. If only he'd been quieter breaking them out, if only he'd been faster, if only he hadn't annoyed the truck driver into dropping them off in the middle of nowhere. If only he'd rescued them sooner, Cloud might still have a coherent thought rattling around in his head. By this time the helicopter blades had slowed to a complete stop. There was a beat of utter and disconcerting stillness. Zack took this opportunity to put as much distance between himself and Cloud as he possibly could, in a last ditch effort to protect the blonde boy. And suddenly the eerie silence was shattered by at least ten pairs of boots hitting the dirt around the chopper. They wasted no time in giving chase, and leveled their machine guns at Zack as they ran. Zack threw a look back over his shoulder at the men. Half of them stood unsteadily in their boots, guns shaking in their hands. Obviously green. It was the other men that were something to worry about. They all had a hardened look in their eyes, and dead steady aim. This observation was doubly concerned when he heard bullets ricochet off the sword he held protectively against his back. At about the same time Zack decided he better look where he was running, he made one of the dumbest mistakes of his life. The toe of his boot found a sizable rock in the dirt, and it was just enough to tip him off balance. He fell flat onto his face in the sand.

Zack tried to jump up quickly, but he wasn't quick enough. In the second it took him to regain his balance, he felt a bullet sear its way through the flesh of his leg. Zack faltered for an instant and then whipped back around, crouching with his sword drawn. Running obviously wasn't working, and he supposed this was as good a spot as any for a final stand. He was quickly surrounded on all sides, and he had to move fast to deflect the torrent of hot lead coming at him. But the weapons were all automatic, and it proved to be just too much for him to handle. He felt what remained of his armor take a peppering of bullets before he felt them actually tear through his chest. He sank to the ground, and expected the barrage of searing lead to continue. His vision started to blur, but the bullets had stopped. He squinted his eyes, trying hard to figure out what had happened. Had he died already? Was it really that easy? He realized a second later that, no, he was definitely alive. He was definitely in serious condition, but his vision was returning.

What he saw sent a chill down his spine. Only three of the men who'd pursued him were still standing. The others were strewn in bits and pieces several yards away. The remaining men had dropped their guns, and held their hands high in surrender. Behind them stood Cloud, eyes burning a fierce green. An impossibly long sword stretched from his hand, and with a graceful flick of his wrist the remaining grunts were sliced cleanly in two. Zack watched their bodies fall as if in slow motion. Cloud stayed crouched, breathing heavily. For the first time he made eye contact with Zack, and the angry green flashed and gave way to a beautiful, desperate blue. For a moment, they were frozen in time. And then those beautiful eyes rolled into the back of that spikey blonde head and Cloud crumpled to the ground, unconcious. The sword disappeared as he landed. Zack cried out something unintelligible, and tried to claw his way closer to the prone form. The sand dug into the few bullet wounds across his chest, and his vision swam again. Zack finally succumbed to the pain, still several yards from Cloud.

The helicopter's pilot, who had stayed inside the machine the entire time, radioed a somber message back to the base. They had lost the entire team, but the mission had essentially been accomplished. Both escapees would be dead by nightfall.

The helicopter disappeared into the midday sun, leaving the soldiers where they'd fallen. The buzzards had to eat too, right?

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**This is short because I want to convey my disappointment in my readers. If you are interested enough in my story to alertlist it, at least have the decency to review. One word reviews will absolutely suffice, just as long as I get an idea about your reaction to the bit. You guys are making me not want to finish this all over again. Feedback~**


	6. V

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Cloud woke up first, just before midnight. He head felt like it'd been split open, and almost every muscle in his body ached. He looked down at himself, trying to figure out why exactly he felt so terrible. He gasped sharply at the sight of himself; he was covered in blood. The simple fact wasn't actually so terrifying; he'd seen his share of blood before. What scared him the most was that he had no memory of any recent violence that would leave him in such a state. As Cloud sat and focused on remembering what had happened to him recently, he realized he couldn't remember much of anything that had happened to him at all. He felt the beginnings of panic stirring in his mind, and tried to calm himself down. _'Okay Cloud, what DO you remember? . . .Cloud. That is my name, right?' _The longer he thought on it, the stranger it sounded. What kind of a name was _Cloud_? A crushing sense of uncertainty pressed down on him. He finally turned his senses outward to distract himself. For the first time, he noticed the man laying in the sand a few yards from him. One of the man's gloved hands was stretched out, reaching for Cloud. The blonde boy scooted away nervously. The longer Cloud stared at the man, however, the more familiar he seemed. Cloud still couldn't put a name to him, but there was something about the man that made him seem inherently trustworthy. Cloud then turned his eyes to the enormous sword that lay near the man. Something inside him bristled curiously at the sight of the massive blade, and he stepped toward it tentatively. Upon closer inspection, he realized the sword was practically bigger than he was. Ignoring this, Cloud reached for the weapon, and lifted it effortlessly. It seemed to reflect the starlight, a truly magnificent weapon in his grasp. He felt a spark like electricity flow through him, like the thing belonged in his hand—like it was a part of him.

As he admired the worn blade, an increasing pressure grew somewhere in the back of his mind. His vision flashed once, and then went black. There was a blinding pain in the back of his head, and suddenly he was inundated with memories of a terrible past.

He could definitely remember green. Green, green, piercing all of his senses. It was choking him. It occurred to him that this was something he had remembered all along; in fact, it was still with him even now. His vision was still tainted with the green fog. He could still feel it crawling through his veins. It was a terrible, alien thing, and it gave him the impression of barely veiled mutiny. Whatever this stuff inside him was, it wanted control. He dimly registered the metallic sound of the sword hitting the sand. A new wave of memories hit him, this time of a terrible long sword.

The thing was strangely familiar to him, but he had no specific recollection of it. He could easily imagine himself holding the thing, like an extension of his left arm. It lent him its incredible power, and they were a force to be reckoned with. The sword was his only friend in the world. The thought occurred belatedly, but that implied that he had enemies. The boy racked his brain to remember any such encounter. His mind finally settled on one. The memory was fuzzy, and tinged with the crushing green. He felt a raw and unbridled kind of fury coursing through him, but it was accompanied by a distant sense of terror. The scenario began to work itself out in his head. They were in a laboratory of some sort, a place that really set Cloud on edge. He was stalking around the place, looking desperately for _something_. He tried to remember what he had wanted so badly, but the effort only made his head ache. He remembered stopping in front of an enormous glass tank. There was a grotesque creature inside, and it was hooked to a myriad of diabolical looking machines. He ignored these though, and began to hack away at the glass with that beautiful sword. The glass was much thicker than it had appeared, and he remembered the feeling of disappointment. He also remembered his subsequent determination, and the power he had tapped in order to free the creature within. He had no clue why he was so desperate, but he did feel a deep and unsettling sympathy for the creature. No one deserved to be held in a tank like that. He felt a vague stirring in his gut at the thought, but dismissed it. There was someone behind him.

He turned around, all grace and flowing silver and green. The boy before him was blonde, and his messy hair hid his face. He was barely standing under his own power, leaning heavily on a sword that was practically larger than he was. It was pathetic, really. The boy gave a weak cough, and he could see that tiny jaw set itself with a laughable subdued form of determination. The kid raised his head. The intense green met a stunning blue, and suddenly Cloud felt like he was being ripped in half all over again. The next instant played out in slow motion. He felt himself lunge forward angrily at the boy. The two swords were raised at once, but the poor kid just didn't have the strength left to defend himself. That elegant blade plunged itself deep into the boy's gut.

Cloud screamed in pain and reached down to protect his stomach. He watched himself fall to the ground with a mixture of contempt and disgust.

Cloud's vision swam again, and he lost his grip on the bizarre flashback. His head was throbbing. And there was a sword through his gut. . . . His own sword? Cloud struggled to put the pieces together, but it was all just too confusing. He had more questions now than he'd had before. Who was he trying to rescue from the glass tank? Who was the insolent boy who'd tried to stop him? . . .Who was _he? _He felt that crushing uncertainty again.

For the second time, he turned to the man laying nearby for a distraction. Something tore at his insides looking at the man, and he felt a need to protect him. The best place to start, of course, was to figure out _why _he was still unconscious. Cloud gently rolled the man onto his back, and gasped when he was the scant armor was riddled with dents. In three places, the bullets had gone all the way through the armor, into the man's torso. Cloud worked quickly to remove the man's armor and under shirt, and gave a half hearted sigh of relief. The actual wounds were clean, had missed the all the really vital spots. There was one clean hole just in front of his left shoulder, one right above the right hip bone, and one had grazed the outside of the rib cage. Cloud pulled a small knife out of his pocket, and set to work removing the bullets, and the pieces of cloth they had pulled into the wounds. It was slightly unnerving that he could do this without really thinking about it.

By the time he got around to the final wound, near the hip, the man was starting to respond. Of course it was limited to muffled groans and twitches, but it was something. Cloud finally fished out the tiny piece of fabric, and started to bandage the area with torn pieces of the shirt he had removed earlier. The man had also taken a nasty hit to the leg, but the bullet had gone all the way through the back side of the calf. There was little Cloud could do about it aside from making sure it was clean and winding a bit of torn shirt around it. The man had lost a remarkably small amount of blood to have such traumatic injuries. Even more unnerving was the fact that Cloud didn't seem too surprised by that either. He sighed heavily, and sat back down beside the man. For the first time, Cloud began to really wonder who this man was.

After a few minutes of deep thought, the harsh desert sun became too much. Cloud squinted his eyes at the city he had seen off in the distance. It seemed to be about the only place they could go. He gave the man a thorough once over. The guy was slightly taller than he was, and generally well muscled. Cloud couldn't bear to leave the gigantic weapon. He settled it into the holster on the man's back, and pulled him up by the uninjured arm. Cloud had to almost center the other man on his back and was still all but dragging him. He swallowed thickly, and hoped this place wasn't as far away as it looked.

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_I'm much more satisfied with the response this time x3_

_Thanks so much you guys~_

_I know these are small updates, but the smaller they are, the faster I can get them up to you._

_And it's longer than the last one, yeh?_


	7. VI

**Thanks for sticking with me, you guys—  
Reviews keep me going.**

He tried to imagine that the hours of walking were doing him some good. He ignored the way his muscles screamed at him for relief, the way the weight on his back only seemed to get heavier. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that he was weak. He was consumed by the need to prove that voice, -_himself?-_, wrong.

The sun burned beautiful colors into the sky behind him, and left blisters on the back of Cloud's neck. The desert, the voices, the circumstances; all of them were merciless. He brought his focus back to the weight on his back, the slight changes in pressure his only consolation. _At least he's still breathing_.

The city looked no closer now than it had six hours ago.

The blurred silhouette on the horizon line mocked him, and he started to lose hope. He'd been moving forward solely on that same hope for several hours now, and he sank to one knee in the face of the futility of it all. He laid the man down gently in the sand, and collapsed beside him. Cloud shut his eyes tightly against the burning sun, and fell into a thick sleep borne from the exhaustion of it all.

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The memories were much closer to the surface this time. The raw edge of terror that had kept him away before was beginning to wear thin, and now it was almost completely replaced with his blooming curiosity. The more he remembered, the more he realized he had forgotten. And it honestly felt like the more he saw, the less he understood.

He saw a tall man with long silver hair, his very presence almost as intimidating as the sword he carried. Fleeting feelings of intense respect and admiration, only slightly tinged with fear came with the image. The man's face twisted from one of stoic disinterest into a look of focused hatred streaked with . . . insanity? He watched with muted fascination as the man turned, and suddenly there was fire, _everywhere_. Leaping flames consumed the nearby forest, the modest homes, the people. The scene whirled around them, and suddenly he and the tall silver man are inside a mako reactor and he's reaching for some grotesque figure encased in thick glass. It looked like it'd been confined for a reason. He was overwhelmed with a feeling he couldn't quite place for a moment, but when he focused his attention back on the man, he realized it was hatred. Rage, even. He belatedly noticed there was a sword in his hand, and not a second later it had impaled both the man and the glass case. For a brief second Cloud heard near-maniacal laughter, and then suddenly the faces blurred and the roles were switched. Tall-silver-man's sword was through Cloud's chest, and the so-much-hatred was pointed at him. Pain surged through his chest, and then his head, and then he was somewhere else entirely.

He was hiking up the side of a snowy mountain, closely following another man. There was a sense of admiration again, but it wasn't accompanied by fear this time. He watched silently as the man bounced around, black spikes swaying in the mountain breeze. Cloud smiled at his antics. The man turned to speak, and then recognition finally sparked.

After a dizzyingly fast transition, Cloud saw himself training with the black hair— no, Zack. Zack was teaching him how to fight with his first sword. Quickly, Cloud was disarmed and flat on his back in the dirt. The man—_Zack_ smirked before holding out a hand to help Cloud back up. He turned to reach for Cloud's sword, and suddenly the scene changed again. They were in a sleepy mountain town, but things weren't so sleepy right this second, and now Cloud was reaching for Zack's sword and then running up into the reactor with the same feelings of hate and rage swirling inside him.

Cloud recognized the next part; he remembered it from . . . Well, he remembered it, at least. This time he knew he had a sword, Zack's. He watched with detached fascination as he charged the man he'd idolized. The memory blurred earlier this time; the second his blade hit the taller man, he felt a surge of pain in his own chest. With one powerful flick of his wrist, the smaller boy was thrown from his sword. He watched, unmoved, as the body fell gracelessly to the cold tile.

Wait, that wasn't how it happened last time, was it? He didn't have time to feel confused; he was already moving back to examine the cracked glass case behind him. He sheathed his sword -_not Zack's?_- back at his side and reached for the beautiful creature inside. The mako in the tank was leaking out quickly thanks to the damage that pathetic boy had inflicted. He turned to send a glare towards the bleeding figure. The kid wasn't moving, and it just didn't have the same effect. He snarled. Right now seeking revenge was not top priority.

He worked quickly to free the woman from the tank, or at least as much of her as he could. He settled for just the head; he had to hurry anyway. He ran to the edge of the nearby catwalk, and jumped. The remains of his Mother, his true Mother, were held protectively in his arms. The last real thought to pass through his head was of how that boy would pay for all he'd done to her, to both of them. His thoughts faded away soon after that.

Cloud woke instantly, gasping for breath and for understanding. He glanced around with almost panic, trying desperately to remember where he was, _who_ he was. His eyes fell, again, onto the man beside him, and he felt an even more pressing need to know more about his companion. He carefully went over everything he knew about the other man, and came again to the large sword he carried with him. He reexamined the scant memories he had. He felt like he had been remembering his own past from two separate perspectives, one from a pathetic young boy who could hardly lift a sword, and one from the epitome of power and grace, a tall man who'd used a long and elegant blade. The same sword he'd used earlier, somehow, to save his companion. He looked back to the other man's broadsword. It was the same sword he'd seen in his dreams and his memories. A man with that same sword had tried to kill him. Cloud gasped softly as he looked at the same spiky hair, the same ShinRa armor. So the colors were slightly wrong, but the choking green had long since destroyed his perception of such things. That meant . . . the man he'd been dragging along for nearly a day was his enemy? No, that couldn't be right either. The pathetic boy hadn't looked nearly as strong, and had been much shorter. No, Cloud had remembered this man as Zack. But this man, Zack, had been very close to that blonde boy, and had obviously given him the sword he'd used in the attack. Cloud felt a pang of sadness at the thought, for some reason. From the memories he'd had, it seemed the two had a significant bond, and Cloud felt a sense of loss when he realized that was something he would never have with anyone. He wondered what Zack had done to him, or vice versa, to cause such feelings of hatred.

Cloud recalled the events from the previous day, the men he had slaughtered to protect his enemy. He remembered having just come to, and he had acted on instinct to protect the fallen man. He now realized that _he_ had been the fallen man, and that those guards he had mercilessly cut in two had been trying to protect _him._ Cloud growled in disgust, at both the other man and at his own stupidity. He grabbed the sword and ran off towards the city, leaving the man unconscious and unarmed in the wasteland. The disgust was short-lived, however, as the guilt began to settle in. There was a familiar loneliness on the back of that guilt. He got the feeling that he had wanted protection and companionship for a vey long time. As he sifted through the isolated incidents in his memories, he began to realize why he had remained alone.


	8. VII

It took Cloud nearly three more days to reach Midgar, still bloody and dragging the sword. He was dehydrated, exhausted, sick, and confused. But he'd come to terms with the loneliness. From what he had been able to piece together from his scraps of memory, he was always alone. Sometimes that fact came with a tinge of sadness, and occasionally with a hint of disgust. He wasn't sure if he yearned for human companionship, or disdained it. The answer wasn't really of pressing concern. What was pressing, though, was figuring out why he had come to this place. He had clear memories of someone talking to him recently: "_When we get to Midgar, we'll . . ."_, and "_Back in Midgar . . .". _Whose voice had that been? More of his own thoughts, operating without his consent? It occurred to Cloud that he remembered more when he just allowed the memories to come. In trying to remember specific events he only seemed to confuse himself further.

Instead, he focused on making it into the city. He must've looked nearly as awful as he felt, judging by the way people looked at him. Mothers shooed their children inside, and closed their windows as he neared their homes. Mercifully, at the end of the street, he recognized a bar. The place looked seedy and a bit run-down. A place like this was unlikely to turn someone away, no matter how shady they looked. _Perfect_. He pushed his blistered feet into the tiny establishment, and all but collapsed into a little corner booth. A busty waitress sauntered over to him almost immediately.

Cloud raised his head a few inches from the table when he heard her stop near him. When their eyes met, the woman gasped and dropped the empty glass and pitcher of water she'd been holding. The glass hit the floor and seemed to explode in every direction, sending water flying everywhere. The noise seemed too loud in the small room, amplified and echoing. Residual flashes of memory burned the backs of Cloud's eyes in tandem with the crash and tinkle of broken glass. Swords, test tubes, vials, windows, experiments, revenge. He shook his head roughly and tried to remain in the present. He looked helplessly back at the waitress, who was already hastily trying to clean the mess off of the floor. He opened his mouth _-to apologize?-_ but only a weak hiss escaped his lips. He hesitated. What was wrong with him? He tried to remember the last time he had spoken. Had he ever spoken? He strained his vocal chords, and coughed violently. His whole body shook with the force of it. He cast another helpless glance toward the waitress, and his vision was swimming again as the pain in his parched throat made him more aware of how beaten his body really was as a whole. The memories swelled behind his forehead, putting unpleasant pressure behind his tired eyes. He distantly heard the waitress yell for someone, -_a manager? The police?- _ and then he felt his head reconnect with the table before the familiar blackness reclaimed him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Zack woke with a jolt, sore and disoriented. There was a large black bird pecking idly at the bloody rag tied around his calf, probably what had woken him up. He kicked his leg at the bird, startling it into flying off. The pain shot up his leg, but that satisfaction of having knocked the bird sideways was definitely worth it. Zack chuckled at his predicament. He should have been dead. The birds even thought he was dead. Hell, maybe he was! And then reality came crashing down on Zack like ice water. ShinRa. The escape. The helicopter. The gunfight. _Cloud. _Zack was on his feet instantly, ignoring the pain like he'd been trained to do for years. He wracked his brain, desperately trying to remember what had happened. He had _not _risked both of their lives just to lose Cloud so quickly. A second, icier thought occurred to him as he turned around. His eyes searched the surrounding area, and there was no sign of it. His sword was missing.

Zack sat down in the sand, and sighed heavily. There was no immediate threat to his life for once, and he decided to take the time to simply sit down and _think._ Panicking was not going to solve any of his problems, no matter what. He took stock of his situation. They'd escaped. They'd nearly made it to Midgar before ShinRa had caught up with them. He'd been unable to defend them. The story should have ended there. Zack struggled to remember how he'd survived the attack. And suddenly he remembered those burning green eyes. Masamune. Cloud. _Cloud! _Cloud had been awake! But something was wrong. Horribly wrong. Those eyes were not Cloud's. Zack desperately tried to piece together what had happened, but the pounding in his head wasn't helping. Cloud had slaughtered the ShinRa troops, but it hadn't really been _Cloud. _Zack recalled the murderous green eyes. And then the blue. Deep, pristine, confused, _blue_. Zack let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Seeing those eyes made everything he'd gone through worth it.

Zack took a deep breath, and tried to figure out what to do next. Someone had obviously tended to his wounds. The bullets had been removed, and makeshift bandages had been tied around him in various places to prevent further injury. Whoever had helped him, though, had also taken his sword. And Cloud. Zack shook his head. He looked around for footprints, tire tracks, anything to give him a clue about what had happened. One glance at the gently shifting sand at his feet gave him his answer. Any trace of what had happened had long since been erased by the constant desert winds. At a loss for what else to do, and eager to be out of the damned sand pit, Zack decided simply to keep heading for Midgar. It wasn't like he really had anywhere else to go, was it? The city was now clearly visible in the distance, but it still looked impossibly far away. He sighed and started walking, trying not to drag his feet.


	9. VIII

When Tifa Lockhart had come down to work that morning, she'd been expecting a normal Wednesday. A few of the loyal regulars would filter in and out, and she'd watch the clock impatiently as the day drug on. Sometimes she wondered why she'd even opened a bar in the first place. Midgar was a pretty dismal place to live these days, and there was definitely an overabundance of places to get hammered in the outskirts of the city. Even the name _Seventh Heaven _seemed to mock the hardships everyone seemed to be facing lately. Coming in to work every morning just to barely scrape by certainly didn't feel like heaven to her, and it hadn't for a long, long time. Tifa was tired of it.

It had been late in the day when he'd walked in, and Tifa had just begun to consider closing up early. Anyone who showed up to a bar late on Wednesday evening in this part of town certainly wasn't going to be in a good mood. She'd been idly clearing tables when she'd heard the door swing open, and heard the heavy boots dragging across her white and black tile floor. She winced, imagining the heavy scuff marks she'd have to mop up later. She heard the man sit heavily into a booth in a dark corner of the room, and sighed, turning around and grabbing a pad to take his order. She finally looked at him just in time to see his body collapse against the table. He was covered in sand, and what she really hoped wasn't blood. His chest was also moving with rapid, shallow breaths. Tifa decided that he probably needed a cool glass of water more than anything else right now, and her irritation with the man quickly turned to pity. He was small, alone, and very likely dehydrated. And judging from the dirt and blood he was covered in, probably hurt pretty badly.

Tifa's maternal instincts had kicked in fully by this point, and she finally approached the table with a pitcher of water and a glass. She intended to leave both at the table and give the man some space for a while, perhaps watching him from across the room. She doubted he'd be willing to talk about what he'd been through. As she made to pour the water, though, the man's head jerked up. Their eyes met. Tifa gasp, audibly, and her grip loosened on the pitcher. Those eyes had haunted so many of her childhood dreams. She'd thought she would never see them again. _Cloud! _She nearly shrieked his name, but suddenly the pitcher met the floor, and shattered into a thousand pieces. She saw those beautiful blue eyes widen, saw the pupils dilate, and suddenly they swirled green. Tifa took a step back, and she saw Cloud's brow knit in confusion. He looked visibly pained, and he shook his head to try to shake whatever he was feeling. Suddenly he was coughing raggedly, and Tifa shouted for someone, anyone, to come and help. Cloud had collapsed back into the table, breathing shallower and faster than before.

Tifa didn't wait for anyone else to come; the staff weren't expecting any more customers in the middle of a weeknight and had probably wandered outside to smoke or simply gone home already. They all knew Tifa could take care of herself. She heaved Cloud up over her shoulder, and was both relieved and horrified that she could lift him by herself. She carried him, slowly, back behind the bar and into one of the seldom-used guest rooms. He remained totally unresponsive, even after Tifa had all but dropped him onto the tiny bed. She stared at his face for a long moment, and finally allowed the disbelief to settle in.

"What happened to you, Cloud?" she whispered at him.

She mentally berated herself when the maternal instincts finally kicked back in. He definitely still needed water, and medical attention, and probably food, at least. Tifa hurried back to the bar and grabbed another glass and pitcher of water, and rushed back to his bedside. She carefully lifted his head and torso, and sat behind him on the bed, almost cradling his body in her arms. As she tipped the water slowly down his throat, she tried not to think about how fragile he looked and felt.

The raven-haired woman didn't sleep at all that night. She'd spent the majority of her night trying to figure out what had _happened _to her friend in the five or so years he'd been gone. With some difficulty, she had removed the sparse and battered pieces of his armor, and then worked to peel off the fraying fabric of his clothes. There were few patches of his skin that still looked white.

Tifa was relieved to find that most of the blood seemed to have come from someone else, at least. She shuddered, and tried not to imagine what he had been through to make it here. What was important right now was trying to help _him, _she chided herself. Her eyes made their way back up and down Cloud's body, taking care to be purely professional in her assessment. There were bruises and small cuts of varying color and size over most of his body, a few grazing wounds on his chest that appeared to be from bullets, and his feet were blistered and bloody. He was certainly in a sorry state, but it was nothing Tifa couldn't deal with. Before she could treat any of his wounds, though, she would have to clean the thick layers of sand and grime off of him.

Seventh Heaven had never been a bed and breakfast, but it was seemingly outfitted for use as one. The people who lived in this area of Midgar were not the sort of character Tifa wanted sleeping in her house. But as she carefully maneuvered Cloud into a bathtub full of warm soapy water, she was infinitely grateful that they'd had the foresight to have at least one bathroom downstairs.

It was also a good thing that they'd only had room for a small tub. Cloud was about as tall as Tifa was, and as she gently scrubbed the grime from his skin, she was glad that his head remained above the water level on its own. Using a soft rag, she tried to find a balance between the pressure needed to remove the dirt, and the gentle touch needed to not tear his dry, bruised skin. She winced as she noticed thin streams of blood oozing from the forearm she'd been washing. She glanced up, hoping to see some reaction on Cloud's face: a look of pain, a twitch, any response at all. He hadn't moved an inch. Sighing, she continued her ministrations, trying to ignore the bleeding and irritation she was causing. She was already going to be bandaging the majority of his body, and she knew that cleaning the wounds first was what was really important.

It seemed like hours had passed when she was finally satisfied. The bath water had steadily turned black and cold, and Tifa had had to change it several times already. At last, she turned her attention to his hair. It was a horrible color, almost a gray copper. She carefully ran a wet rag through one of the droopy spikes, relieved when pale yellow started to show through. She laughed, and started washing his hair in earnest.

"Cloud, it's no wonder I didn't recognize you at first!"

The yellow was much paler than the remembered. In her memories, Cloud's hair had sparkled like actual gold. Maybe it'd just been too long since she'd seen him.

The sun was rising by the time Tifa had finally managed to get Cloud bandaged up and back into whatever clean clothes she could find to fit him. She lowered him back into the guest bed, and sat down beside him. She reached out and squeezed the only unbandaged portion of one of his arms. He was still completely unresponsive, and aside from the subtle rise and fall of his chest, hadn't shown any other signs of life since collapsing in the bar. Tifa shook her head, suddenly frustrated with the whole situation.

"I have so much to say to you and now that you're finally here, you can't even talk to me. You probably can't even _hear_ me. Well, I hope you don't think you're just here to get patched up and then leave again! You can't run off again that easily, you hear me?"

She sat on his bedside, talking animatedly to the unmoving blonde for close to an hour. She spoke about her frustrations with the bar, with life in Midgar, and with his familiar hard-headedness. She allowed the frustration to pour from her, because it distracted her from the worry. When she finally left the room to make breakfast, however, the anxiety hit her full force. She knew Cloud was strong, and imagining what he must've been through recently was something she didn't want to even attempt. She'd let him tell her about it, when he was ready. But first she had to wait until he woke up.

Tifa went through the chores of her day almost mechanically. Throughout the day she made sure to remind herself to think about _when _he would wake up, and not _if._


End file.
